


Salt Spray

by accol



Series: Salt Spray [1]
Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-13
Updated: 2012-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-31 03:35:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/339432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accol/pseuds/accol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brad is in England with the Royal Marines.  Nate is at Harvard.  The time apart is hard, but Nate fills his paltry spare time with secret sailing lessons to surprise Brad.  Established relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on fictionalized portrayals in the HBO miniseries _Generation Kill_. Slightly AU timeline, since Nate was not in grad school when Brad was with the RMC. Fantastic artwork by [beaumontinvestigations](beaumontinvestigations.tumblr.com).

  


**March**  
When Nate moved to Harvard and Brad moved to England last August, it got extremely hard.  School and work kept them busy, but classes didn’t go on forever and weekend leave came every week.  It was during those downtimes that the days apart really grated.  They talked on the phone to ease some of the ache.

“I’m taking the men sailing next weekend for team-building.  I haven’t sailed for years,” Brad said one day.

“You used to?” Nate asked, already thinking about how he’d like to be there on deck with Brad, working the ropes or whatever it was that sailing entailed. Nate had never sailed before.

“Yeah, all the time.  There was a sailing team in high school.  We used to sail all the way up north of San Francisco and back to train on weekends.  We won State one year,” Brad replied.  

The conversation drifted away to a new topic after that, but the seed had been planted in Nate’s mind.  He daydreamed about Brad commanding a boat full of men, teaching them how to finesse the ropes so the boat would listen to them.  The idea of Brad so fully in control like that...

Nate took a shower like he did after most of their calls.  It reminded him of one of their hook-ups back in California.  Late on a Saturday afternoon, he and Brad had gone for a run in the hills near the base.  The gym’s showers were down that evening, so they went over to the recruits’ barracks.  It was between training cycles and the building was deserted.  They jumped under the communal shower, and one thing rapidly led to another.  A thin film of soapy water allowed their bodies to slide effortlessly across each other.  Their cocks slipped past each other as they rutted together.  Brad had grabbed the back of Nate’s neck, and Nate’s fingers dug into the slippery flesh at Brad’s hips.  Forehead to forehead and panting, they pulled at each other.  They were desperate for a fast release, always worried they would be found.  Now, the spray of Nate’s shower turned those memories into fantasies that merged with his new desire to see Brad commanding a sailboat, salt spray clinging to his stubbled face.  Nate found that to be extremely productive jack-off material.

**April**  
It had been weeks since Brad had first mentioned sailing.  Nate’s mind chewed at the image of Brad on a sailboat.  He began inserting himself into the daydreams, standing at the wheel with him or battling against some storm alongside him.  The thought of it had consumed Nate until he finally Googled ‘sailing lessons.’  

MIT sat on a wide part of the Charles River, and Nate could cross-enroll in their beginners dinghy class.  He felt like an ass standing next to all of the kids on the dock the first day.  Some of them looked to be half his age; they probably were, knowing MIT's reputation.  Nate wasn’t particularly prideful, but fuck if he was going to get shown up by a child in a dinghy.  Between these kids and his desire to do this with Brad someday, to do this  _for_ him, Nate was extremely motivated.

**May**  
Nate need not have worried.  He took to sailing like it was in his blood.  After a month, the dinghy instructors put him on a team out in the Bay so he could (literally) learn the ropes on a full-size boat.  His new instructor was this burly man in a watch cap with a old, blue tattoo of a hula dancer on his forearm.  He told them to call him Mick.  If Mick hadn’t been harder than Nate’s own drill instructor, Nate would have thought he was only a caricature of a sailor.  Some of the younger sailing students mumbled something about how Mick's name rhymed with a less than flattering word that accurately described him and his fuck-awful demeanor. Frankly this man was mean, but he did know his way around a sailboat.  Nate snapped to like he was back in the Corps when Mick barked orders, and Nate learned a whole hell of a lot in a very short period of time.

Nate kept his sailing lessons quiet.  He didn't even talk to his local friends about it since that felt too much like letting them in on his extremely private relationship with Brad.  Nate was very determined to surprise Brad when he went to visit him in August.  The more he thought about this, the more he knew Brad would like it if they could sail together when he was there.  He didn't want a whisper of this to find its way over to England before he got there.  

**June**  
In late June, Nate asked, “Have you been sailing more?”

“Actually, yeah.  I guess you’ve been keeping me distracted on our phone calls,” Brad said with a teasing tone in his voice, “or I would have mentioned it.  Not that I am complaining about your method of distracting me.”

“I save the good flirting for you, Colbert,” Nate said, an audible smile in his voice.

“You’d better save it all for me, Sir," Brad said with feigned seriousness.  "So, yeah, sailing.  I had almost forgotten how much I love getting out on the water like that.  That was one of the worst things about OIF.  That and not being able to fuck you, of course.”

“Of course.  In that way, grad school is more like active duty than most people think.”

Brad laughed.  “Mmhmm, very similar.  Grad school is keeping you fit like the Corps did?  You’re not getting soft?”

“When I’m around you, Brad, that is very unlikely.”  

Brad was quiet for a long moment.  “I cannot fucking wait until you’re here, Nate.  I’ve been keeping up appearances for when I go back to Pendleton, but going out on the trap is getting old.  You know how those base bunnies are.”  

“Did you just tell me that you’ve been hooking up with random women?”

“Negatory.  On top of them being more oblivious than Encino Man, they are bloody  base bunnies.  You know I don’t go there.”  

“Just checking,” said Nate.  Brad was true to his word.  It was one of the few things in the world that Nate knew absolutely.  

“I’d rather have your ass any day of the week and twice on Sunday,” Brad said.

“We’re going to test that figure of speech while I’m there, you know.”  

“Oh, I know it.”

Nate’s body responded to Brad’s flirting even with a goddamn ocean between them.  He sighed and adjusted himself.  He was going to have a hard-on until August at this rate.  

“Tell me more about the sailing instead,” Nate suggested.  

“We’ve mostly been sailing this old 12-metre that was willed to the RMC by some Lord.  It’s in pretty good shape.  I would rather take something smaller out.  Something I could sail myself, but that would obviously defeat the purpose of team-building.”

Nate spent the next two days on the phone, finding out where to rent a boat in Devon.  He researched routes, possible destinations, and prevailing winds.  He was ready to eat Ramen noodles for a year to pay for this trip if he had to.  The idea of doing something that required he and Brad to depend on each other again... that idea pushed Nate like nothing had in recent memory.

**July**  
The first weekend in July, Nate's sailing team did their longest sail to date.  They left Boston Harbor and landed in Provincetown several hours later, having made great time.  When they disembarked, Nate suppressed a surprised snort when Mick swept up a much younger blond man into his arms.  Turned out he and Mick had more in common than Nate had thought.  

The rest of the crew dragged Nate into one of the clubs.  They weren’t heading back to Boston until the morning, so they apparently intended to take advantage of everything Provincetown had to offer.  Tonight that involved male go-go dancers dressed as plebes, no less.  One of them looked strangely like Rudy Reyes.  Not surprisingly, he was particularly popular with the audience.  

Nate wasn’t much for dancing.  He stood at the bar, nursing his beer. The bartender was paying him some extra attention.

“Hey, pretty.  Just in for the night?” he asked while he was pouring another beer from the tap.

“Yeah.  Sailing out tomorrow morning back to Boston,” Nate replied.

“You live there?”

Nate nodded.  “Going to grad school.”

“Let me guess.  Harvard Med?”

“Ha!  No, but close.”

“The B School?”

“JFK School,” Nate replied.  

“Oh, my my _my_.  A future politician at a gay bar in Provincetown!  How are you going to keep _that_ skeleton in your closet?”  The bartender was looking particularly predatory as he winked at Nate. 

“We live in modern times.  No shameful behavior here,” Nate smiled.

“Is that right?  My shift ends in 45 minutes.  Do you want to go back to my place to see if we can find “no shameful behavior” there too?  I am particularly shameless,” the bartender flirted.

All Nate could see in his mind’s eye was Brad laughing if he heard this exchange.  Laughing because he knew how little this kind of random hook-up would appeal to Nate and because he knew that Nate was only his.  Nate’s cock twitched at the wishful thought of Brad appearing in Provincetown tonight.

Nate shrugged.  “Sorry, man.  Taken.”

“Of course you are.  Well,  he isn’t here, is  he?”

“What makes you think it’s a  he?”

The bartender flashed a toothy smile and laughed.  “Boy, you are in Provincetown talking to a bartender who eats and breathes gay boys for a fucking living.  You’re not as straight as you look.  I can tell these things.”

Nate just smiled.  “Wishful thinking on your part, maybe.”

“Where is he then?  Your boyfriend in the White House, Mr. Future Politician?”

“Nope.”

“If I guess, will you tell me how you met him?”

“Maybe,” Nate replied.  

“I think you met him on the job, because you don’t seem like the boy bar kind of guy.”

“That is correct.”

“Judging by the way you carry yourself, I’m going to say... police?  No, not if you’re at the JFK School.  Air Force?”

“You’re pretty good at this, but not Air Force.”

“What then?  You were black-ops ninjas with greasepaint on your face and gigantic guns?”

“Something like that.  You probably don’t want me telling  him that you’re ignoring your other customers to chat me up.  I’ve seen what he can do with a knife.”  Nate raised his eyebrows and tipped his glass at the men trying to signal the bartender.  

The bartender blew him a kiss and went back to work.  He comped Nate another beer before Nate headed back to the sailboat to get some racktime, leaving the rest of his team at the bar.  He laid down on one of the small bunks and stroked himself through his pants.  The thought of Brad sucking his cock belowdeck on his sailboat was enough for Nate to unzip.  He spit in his hand and jacked himself thinking of how good the taste of sea salt on Brad’s skin was going to be.

Nate’s sailing team won the amateurs’ competition during the third weekend in July.  Their picture was in the Globe.  Nate wondered if Brad ever Googled his name.  If he did, he was bound to find it.

A week later, only days before he was going to get on a plane for London, Nate folded that picture from the newspaper into an origami sailboat and sent it Express Mail to Brad.  He wanted it to get there just in time to surprise him.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**02 August (Day 0)**  
Nate stepped off of the train at Lympstone Village and saw Brad with that newsprint in his hand.  He could tell as soon as his foot touched that platform that Brad had smoothed the creases out to read the article about Nate’s sailing team.  Nate may have looked calm to the other disembarking passengers, but the beaming smile on Brad's face was making his heart race.  
  
When they hugged, Brad whispered in Nate’s ear.  “You can do anything you set your mind to, can’t you?”  
  
Nate smiled and whispered back, “Before we go meet the boat...”  
  
Brad pulled back abruptly and searched Nate’s smirking face.  “The boat?”  
  
Nate nodded,  “Oh, yeah.  I rented a sailboat for us.  We’re taking a trip.  But before that, let’s go back to your flat.  I want to show you what else I know how to do.”  
  
“Aye, aye, Sir!”    
  
 **03 August (Day 1)**  
Even though they had gotten little sleep in lieu of getting reacquainted with each other on most of the surfaces in Brad’s flat, they got up just after dawn and drove down to Exmouth on Brad’s Triumph to meet the boat.  Being vibrated against Brad’s solid back woke Nate up in more ways than one despite the early hour.  He kissed the exposed skin of Brad’s neck as they drove.  
  
After all of the requisite supply runs and equipment checks, they were on their way to the Channel by 11:00.  
  
“You planned this trip, so where are we going?” Brad asked from behind the ship’s wheel.  
  
“Tonight I have a slip in Guernsey.  I figure we can get at least as far as Porto.”  
  
“Portugal?  Water should be warm there.”  
  
“That’s the hope,” Nate replied.  He had read about a cove surrounded by sea caves that he was hoping to moor in.  From the day he saw a picture of it, he knew that was where he was going to take Brad.  The idea of fucking Brad on a secluded beach was the way Nate had finished every jack-off session since.  
  
On the first day out on the water, Brad told Nate how to do each of the necessary tasks.  Nate already knew the vast majority of what Brad was telling him.  He was often doing the task as Brad turned to give the order.    
  
That night, they moored off the west coast of Guernsey.  It was chilly and raining, so they stayed belowdecks.    
  
“I can’t believe how fast you learned all of that,” Brad said.  
  
Nate shrugged.  “You haven’t met Mick.”  
  
“Your instructor?”  
  
He nodded.  “Think of a blend of Patterson and Popeye, but mean as fuck.”    
  
Brad laughed.  “You should give me his number so I can call and thank him for molding you into the fine sailor that you’ve become.”  
  
“I don’t think so.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“We sailed to Provincetown the weekend before the race, and he went off with a kid who looked rather like a twinky version of you.  That’s why.”  
  
Brad laughed again, pulling Nate into a hug.  “Give me his address then.  I’ll send him a bottle of whiskey or a can of spinach or a picture of myself, maybe.”  
  
Nate silenced Brad with a kiss.  Before they drifted off to sleep later, Brad whispered how much he admired Nate.  Nate fell asleep with a smile on his face and his legs tangled with Brad’s.  
  
 **05 August (Day 3)**  
By the middle of day 3, Brad assured Nate that he could leave the whole boat to him and not have to worry about a thing.  Nate was steering the boat into a steady wind when Brad embraced him from behind and spoke against his neck.    
  
“Why did you do all this?”  
  
“Why do you think?”  
  
“I would have happily fucked you any way you wanted even without this,” Brad said.  Nate's eyebrows shot up.    
  
“You’re goddamn right you would have, but that wasn’t what this is about.”  Nate turned around to face Brad.  “It was obvious from the excitement in your voice on the phone that you love sailing.  So, I made time to learn.  So we could do this.  Together.”  
  
Brad's eyes reflected how deeply Nate's words had hit.  He cupped Nate’s cheeks with his hands and kissed him softly.    
  
“When I opened that letter and saw the sailboat origami inside, I wasn’t sure what you were getting at.  If your face hadn’t conveniently been folded onto the middle of the sail, I might have thought you were just being cute."  
  
"How often do I act cute?"  
  
"When you spent the ride to the marina kissing the back of my neck, that may have been cute," Brad replied.  
  
"That was most certainly not cute.  If anything that was 'I am finally somewhere that I can touch my TL without it getting us NJPed.'  Or possibly it was 'I have barely seen my boyfriend for the last twelve months, so I might fuck him right about here and now.'"    
  
"How about if your boyfriend expressed his gratitude?"  
  
"I am amenable to that," Nate said.    
  
Brad ducked out of the way of Nate's kiss and dropped to his knees.  He unbuckled Nate's belt and lifted the hem of his shirt.  Brad ran his open mouth across Nate's abdomen, breathing a hot, quiet  thank you across his skin.  Brad unzipped Nate’s pants and pressed them just low enough.  The boat swayed rhymthically as Brad's mouth descended on Nate's cock.  He worked Nate slowly, swallowing him deep into the back of his mouth.  Nate stroked his fingers through Brad's short cropped hair and then moved his hands to press gently on the back of Brad's head, coaxing him deeper.  Brad hummed his approval.  He squeezed Nate's ass with one hand while the other joined his mouth on Nate's cock.  Brad looked up at Nate, jacking him with his hand.    
  
"I never want to be without you, Nate," Brad whispered, a high blush on his cheeks for saying the kind of thing they usually left unsaid.  
  
Nate's concurrence was lost in his throat when Brad swallowed him down again.  Now Brad was moving hungrily and sloppily, everything that they never were in their public lives.     
  
 **09 August (Day 7)**  
On the afternoon of the seventh day, they arrived at the cove north of Porto.  The sea walls towered above the water.  Now, at low tide, there was a small sandy beach at the base of the cliff.  It was deserted.  They moored a few hundred yards away from the shore.  
  
Brad was gazing up at the cliff walls, shielding his eyes from the midday sun.    
  
“Are you seeing this, Nate?  It’s gorgeous.”  
  
“Yes, it is,” Nate said as he walked toward Brad.  He wasn’t looking at the cove.    
  
Brad heard the purr in Nate’s voice and turned to look at him.  Nate was already shirtless.    
  
“Not wasting any time, are you?” Brad asked.  
  
“Nope.  Not when I know you’re faster than me in the water,” Nate said.  He dropped his shorts, pushed off his deck shoes and dove into the water with a laugh.  
  
“Shit,” Brad said under his breath as he pulled off his own clothes.  Nate had at least 20 yards on him by the time he dove in.    
  
The water was even warmer than Nate had expected.  He had been ready for his breath to get sucked away by the chill.  When it wasn’t, he got quite the head start.  But Brad was fast.  Only two body lengths from the shore, Brad’s hand grabbed Nate’s ankle.  Brad yanked Nate back, but instead of using that advantage to touch the beach first, Brad simply wrapped his arms around Nate.    
  
Brad brushed away the water that was dripping from Nate’s longer, civilian hair onto his cheeks as they tread water.    
  
“How many times should I say thank you for learning to sail?”  
  
“That depends,” Nate replied.  
  
“On what?”  
  
“On whether you’ve run out of good ways to thank me.”  
  
“Unlikely,” Brad said, turning onto his back and pulling a laughing Nate onto the shore in a lifeguard hold.     
  
“I would have come to shore willingly, Brad.”  
  
“But you’re so slow,” Brad said with a sly smile.    
  
“If you stopped rubbing it in, and started...”    
  
Brad interrupted Nate’s taunt with a deep kiss.  He pushed Nate onto his back and nestled his leg between Nate’s knees.  He ran his hands up the insides of Nate’s arms as he pushed them over Nate’s head.    
  
“What’s this?” Brad asked.  Nate had a small, waterproof pouch dangling from his wrist.  
  
“Supplies.”  
  
“For?”  Brad didn’t really need to ask.  
  
“I  have been out for a while, but I think the Battle Hymn says something like ‘in sunny tropic scenes; You will find us always on the job; The United States Marines.’”  
  
“So that’s what I am to you?  A job?”  Brad was smiling.  
  
“If so, then you’re the best job I’ve ever had,” Nate said.  He rolled Brad over and knelt over his waist.  He pulled exactly what Brad expected out of the pouch; silicone lube.  Nate rinsed the traces of sand off of his hands and dripped some of the slick onto his fingers.  He reached behind himself and began stroking Brad’s hardening cock, pressing it into the cleft of his ass. Brad flexed the muscles in his legs and ass, fucking himself into Nate’s hand.  
  
“Fuck, Nate.”  
  
Nate put more slick onto his fingers, and leaned forward.  He pressed a fingertip into his own hole, arching his back to reach deeper.    
  
“Fuck.  You are so fucking perfect, Nate,” Brad whispered.    
  
They locked eyes, and Brad saw Nate’s pupils constrict as Nate slipped another finger into his ass, pressing them apart slightly for the stretch.  Brad sat up and nipped at the skin of Nate’s chest.  He felt every heartbeat as Nate’s fingers quickened their tempo.  Nate pulled out and grabbed Brad’s cock, pumping it hard in his slick palm.  
  
“I’ve been wanting to fuck you like this since I found out about this place months ago,” Nate breathed.  He pressed the head of Brad’s cock against his hole and sat slowly back.  The sound of their moans echoed gently around the cove.    
  
Nate moved his feet under him, still pulsing up and down on Brad’s cock.  Brad watched himself disappear into Nate’s ass over and over again.  He felt every brush of Nate's balls across his skin as Nate fucked him.  He raised his hips to meet Nate’s downward thrusts.    
  
“Brad, unhhh.  Your cock...” Nate gasped.  Nate grabbed his own cock and stroked the head.    
  
“Make yourself come, Nate.  Fuck my cock and make yourself come,” Brad said.    
  
Nate’s pace increased.  Brad continued to meet his thrusts, pushing himself deep into Nate’s ass.  Nate’s hand worked in opposite time to the thrusts.  The head of his cock pushed through his fist, hot and red.  Nate watched the hunger build in Brad’s eyes and it fed his own arousal.  
  
“God, Brad, you are so fucking gorgeous.  Please, just fuck me,” Nate begged.    
  
Brad grabbed Nate’s hips and pounded into him.  Nate came across Brad’s chest and neck, shaking with pleasure.  He was silent in his ecstasy.  The feeling of Nate’s ass constricting around his dick as he came pushed Brad harder.  He fucked Nate through his orgasm, reaching his own release with an echoing roar.    
  
Nate collapsed on top of Brad, his come sticky and ignored between them.  The sun was falling rapidly toward the cliff top while they laid together in the sun.    
  
“I love the weight of you on me like this,” Brad whispered.  “Especially when we have to spend so much fucking time apart.  It reminds me you’re real.”  
  
Nate felt the rise and fall of Brad’s chest.  He listened to the gradually slowing cadence of Brad’s heart.    
  
“Two more years of you in England.  That is going to kill me,” Nate said.  
  
“The Boston to London flight is only five hours or something.  That’s not so bad.  We can see each other on weekends,” Brad said.  
  
Nate didn’t know how they’d afford all of the plane tickets, but he kept that to himself.  
  
Brad’s stomach growled, and he grumbled, “It’s time to head back to the boat.”  
  
They swam back leisurely, stopping en route several times to roughhouse and to help each other wash off.  They were thorough; thorough enough that they were both turned on again by the time they were climbing the boat’s ladder.    
  
Brad slapped Nate’s ass.  “Hurry up, LT.  Daylight’s wastin’.”  
  
Nate threw a towel at Brad with a smile.  “You haven’t developed a fear of the dark, have you?  Because I intend to have another go at you before rack ops.”  
  
“Let’s order some pizza first.”  Brad rubbed his stomach, and Nate’s mouth watered at the sight.  “All we have is that fucking Euro scran.  Baguettes and cheese that smells like a footlocker.  Is that what you’ve been learning at Harvard?  How to eat with your pinkie up?”    
  
“Yes,” Nate laughed, “And do you realize that you’ve been dropping British slang into our conversations?”  
  
Brad’s face clearly showed that he had not.    
  
“You had better get yourself in line before you go back to California, Gunnery Sergeant, or your men will never take another command from you,” Nate teased.  He grabbed a bottle of wine and the food from below deck.  
  
“Give me that,” Brad said, gesturing for the bread and Portuguese ham that they’d picked up at the last port.  “If I’m going to eat it, at least I’m going to show it the sharp end of my ka-bar.”  Nate saw the smile in Brad’s eyes.  
  
They ate quietly, watching the sea and sitting knee to knee.  Brad shaved off thin slices of meat and handed them to Nate right off of his knife.  Some thought flicked through Nate’s mind about Brad being by his side, complete with his huge knife and intermittent British slang, when he ran for office.  Nate smiled as he took a huge swig off the bottle of wine.  
  
He put the bottle down and signaled for Brad to lose the knife for a while.  
  
"I thought of another way for you to thank me," Nate said, grabbing Brad's ass.  
  
"Fuck, yes."   
  
Brad flipped over, and grabbed the side rail.  Nate relished every stroke of his dick into Brad's ass, every hiss and moan he drew from Brad.  
  
As the sun set over the cove and Brad dozed in his arms, Nate knew he was going to transfer to Oxford.


End file.
